#ThursdayDoors Gates Seen in Cordoba

I live in Cordoba, Spain, which is surrounded by hills, called Sierra Morena. Towards the north of the city, away from the historic Old Town and the busy modern town centre lies a residential area, where I often go for long sunny walks. These photos of some gates of the villas I walk past were taken a few days ago. Hope you like them! Don’t forget to check other doors on Norm’s Blog in this weekly challenge, or join in with your own doors!

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#AtoZChallenge ‘W’ #NationalPoetryMonth ‘Wild Nights’ by Emily Dickinson #amwriting #poem #NaPoWriMo

This year to celebrate National Poetry Month and to take part in the April A-Z Blogging Challenge, I’ll be posting two poems a day, one written by me and another poem written by one of my favourite poets. The title or first word of the  poem, or the author’s name will begin with the corresponding letter in the Blogging Challenge.

Today I offer you Wild Nights by Emily Dickinson and Wild Nights by Luccia Gray.

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Wild Nights by Emily Dickinson

 

Wild nights! Wild nights! 
Were I with thee, 
Wild nights should be 
Our luxury!

Futile the winds 
To a heart in port, 
Done with the compass, 
Done with the chart.

Rowing in Eden! 
Ah! the sea! 
Might I but moor 
To-night in thee!

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This short and intense, love poem by Emily Dickinson never ceases to astound me. The fact that a solitary and introvert recluse, who may have suffered agoraphobia, wrote such a passionate poem is amazing. Although the poem is allegorical, it is clearly about the poet’s yearning to meet, ‘were I with thee’, and make love ‘wild nights’ with ‘thee’, the person she has given her heart to. She compares meeting this person to ‘rowing in Eden’, and longs to ‘moor tonight in thee’. The experience is never accomplished and remains in the realm of her dreams, which is why she describes ‘wild nights’. Presumably, her desires were never fulfilled, so the contained and repressed sexuality is even more powerful in its tragedy.

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Emily Dickinson is a fascinating and enigmatic poet, read more about her here. From the age of thirty, Emily always wore white, and she was buried in a white casket, wearing a white dress. I was fortunate enough to visit Emily Dickinson’s Homestead some years ago. Her white house dress, exhibited on the top floor landing, just outside her bedroom, is one of the highlights of the museum. The dress impressed me at the time and inspired me to write this poem, which is a reflection on her unfulfilled desires, making use of the imagery in her poem, Wild Nights.

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Wild Nights! By Luccia Gray (After Emily Dickinson)

Wild nights! she cried, 

A tiny, frail figure,

Yearning for love.

Futile winds,

Rocked her boat,

Rowing to Eden,

Dressed in white.

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Wild nights, she cried

As she swayed in the sea,

Neither compass nor chart

Led the way.

Still she craved

Her Nirvana,

Dressed in white.

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Wild nights, she cried,

Her heart reaching its port,

Where she moored at last.

Finally resting,

In her casket,

Far from the sea,

Dressed in white.

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#WordlessWednesday Flowers Seen On My Morning Walk

 

 

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#AtoZChallenge ‘V’ #NationalPoetryMonth ‘Edward Hopper Study: Hotel Room’ by Victoria Chang #amwriting #poem

This year to celebrate National Poetry Month and to take part in the April A-Z Blogging Challenge, I’ll be posting two poems a day, one written by me and another poem written by one of my favourite poets. The title or first word of the  poem, or the author’s name will begin with the corresponding letter in the Blogging Challenge.

Edward Hopper Study: Hotel Room by Victoria Chang

While the man is away

telling his wife

about the red-corseted woman,

the woman waits

on the queen-sized bed.

You’d expect her quiet

in the fist of a copper

statue. Half her face,

a shade of golden meringue,

the other half, the dark

of cattails. Her mouth even—

too straight, as if she doubted

her made decision, the way

women do. In her hands,

a yellow letter creased,

like her hunched back.

Her dress limp on a green chair.

In front, a man’s satchel

and briefcase. On a dresser,

a hat with a ceylon

feather. That is all

the artist left us with,

knowing we would turn

the woman’s stone into ours,

a thirst for the self

in everything—even

in the sweet chinks

of mandarin.

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Most poets are influenced by what they see, and especially by other art forms. I think this poem by Victoria Chang captures the moment Hopper froze in his painting and reminds us that the artist wanted the viewer to ‘turn the woman’s stone into ours.’ The poet interprets the picture is about a search for the self.  More about VICTORIA CHANG.

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My interpretation of the picture is more of a sense of a loss of self, of being trapped in nothingness. The girl has no way out. She can’t make sense of the world around her. She’s depressed, desperate, alone and trapped…

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Trapped by Luccia Gray (after Edward Hopper’s Hotel Room)

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Bags dropped,

Hat off,

Dress neatly folded.

Shoulders hunched,

Naked,

Faceless,

Reading

Your wordless letter.

‘To whom it may concern,’

She replied,

‘No way out.’

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#TuesdayBookBlog ‘Strawberry Sky’ by @JanRuthAuthor #Amreading #Amreviewing

Today I’m posting my 5-Star review of Strawberry Sky, by Jan Ruth, a contemporary British family drama.

Reading Strawberry Sky was a pleasure. It was like meeting old friends once again. It is the third and final novel in the Midnight Sky series.

Strawberry Sky is more fast paced than Midnight Sky and Palomino Sky, and as I already had the background and setting, I was quickly involved, once again, in the two sisters, Laura and Maggie’s, complex lives.

The same engaging characters we’ve already met in books one and two, make their appearance once again with an important new addition, Enid, a motherless teenage girl, who applies for a job at their farm bringing both positive and negative consequences.

After a series of unfortunate mishaps and ups and downs, it would seem that James and Laura, are finally on the road to a ‘rosy future’ of marriage and children, renovating the house, their ambitious refurbishing project, and Laura’s design business, but once again, things will not be so easy.

Overprotective Maggie, will make some unfortunate decisions, while her troublesome daughter, Jess, and her ex-boyfriend and father of their child and his violent acquaintances, will continue to wreak havoc in the family.

In spite of their love and supportive relationship, James and Laura will have to face plenty of issues, including James’s pain due to his spinal injury which occurred in book two, and Laura’s obsession with pregnancy, not to mention the constant complications caused by Jess’s behaviour.

The best part of the writing is the characterisation. The proof is that I feel as if I know and the characters and it was sad to say goodbye. I’ll miss Laura’s generosity and optimism, and James’ patience and insight, in spite of his gruffness! I won’t miss some of the others, such as Jess or Maggie!

It’s a satisfactory and realistic ending to the series, because there are no perfect endings; life goes on, we fall, we get up, we survive, we struggle…

Especially for lovers of intense family drama, set in the stunning Welsh countryside.

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About Jan’s Books:

She writes contemporary fiction about the darker side of the family dynamic with a generous helping of humour, horses and dogs. Her books blend the serenities of rural life with the headaches of city business, exploring the endless complexities of relationships.

JAN RUTH’s real story began at school, with prizes for short stories and poetry. She failed all things mathematical and scientific, and to this day struggles to make sense of anything numerical.

Her first novel – written in 1986 – attracted the attention of an agent who was trying to set up her own company, Love Stories Ltd. It was a project aiming to champion those books of substance which contained a romantic element but were perhaps directed towards the more mature reader and consistently fell through the net in traditional publishing. Sadly, the project failed to get the right financial backing.

Many years later Jan’s second novel, Wild Water, was taken on by Jane Judd, literary agent. Judd was a huge inspiration, but the book failed to find the right niche with a publisher. It didn’t fall into a specific category and, narrated mostly from the male viewpoint, it was considered out of genre for most publishers and too much of a risk.

Amazon changed the face of the industry with the advent of self-publishing; opening up the market for readers to decide the fate of those previously spurned novels. Jan went on to successfully publish several works of fiction and short story collections and after a brief partnership with Accent Press in 2015, has returned to the freedom of independent publishing.

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#AtoZChallenge ‘U’ #NationalPoetryMonth ‘Union Square’ by Sara Teasdale #amwriting #poem

This year to celebrate National Poetry Month and to take part in the April A-Z Blogging Challenge, I’ll be posting two poems a day, one written by me and another poem written by one of my favourite poets. The title or first word of both poems will begin with the corresponding letter in the Blogging Challenge.

Today I offer you two light hearted poems about unrequited love. Union Square by Sara Teasdale and Plans, by Luccia Gray.

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Union Square BY SARA TEASDALE (1884-1933)

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With the man I love who loves me not,

I walked in the street-lamps’ flare;

We watched the world go home that night

In a flood through Union Square.

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I leaned to catch the words he said

That were light as a snowflake falling;

Ah well that he never leaned to hear

The words my heart was calling.

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And on we walked and on we walked

Past the fiery lights of the picture shows —

Where the girls with thirsty eyes go by

On the errand each man knows.

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And on we walked and on we walked,

At the door at last we said good-bye;

I knew by his smile he had not heard

My heart’s unuttered cry.

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With the man I love who loves me not

I walked in the street-lamps’ flare —

But oh, the girls who ask for love

In the lights of Union Square.

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Union Square is a light-hearted approach to a girl’s search for love. While many of the girls in Union Square are looking for fun, and perhaps earning money in exchange for their favours, the girl in the poem says she’s in love and she’s looking for commitment, yet the man she’s with ‘loves her not’, perhaps because he’s mistaken her intentions, which is why she says he doesn’t hear her, or perhaps because he doesn’t love her, or isn’t prepared to commit. In any case, he girl is a realist. She’s aware that he doesn’t love her, and yet, although there’s a lament, the tone is light. The reader gets the impression she’ll keep looking, and maybe one day she’ll find the person who will love her, too. I like the way the girl is empowered. She’s not going to wait around and cry all day. Lack of love is treated in a humorous, natural way. Hey, it’s not the end of the world, there are plenty more fish in the sea, the girl seems to say.  

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I’ve taken the same theme, a relationship that doesn’t progress because the man is not in love with the woman, and dealt with it in a light-hearted way, too. We make plans, we cancel plans, then we make new plans, and life goes on…

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Plans by Lucia Gray

She thought she found,

Her true love at last.

They walked hand in hand,

Making plans.

She thought she’d met,

The man of her dreams.

She whispered, He kissed her,

Making plans.

Much later she learned

He loved her no more.

She was sad, he was sorry,

Cancelling plans. 

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#AtoZChallenge ‘T’ #NationalPoetryMonth ‘Telescope’ by Louise Gluck #amwriting #poem

This year to celebrate National Poetry Month and to take part in the April A-Z Blogging Challenge, I’ll be posting two poems a day, one written by me and another poem written by one of my favourite poets. The title or first word of both poems will begin with the corresponding letter in the Blogging Challenge.

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Today I bring you two poems about the vastness of the universe, perspective and loneliness. Telescope by Louise Gluck and Closer by Luccia Gray.

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Telescope by Louise Glück

 

There is a moment after you move your eye away

when you forget where you are

because you’ve been living, it seems,

somewhere else, in the silence of the night sky.

You’ve stopped being here in the world.

You’re in a different place,

a place where human life has no meaning.

You’re not a creature in a body.

You exist as the stars exist,

participating in their stillness, their immensity.

Then you’re in the world again.

At night, on a cold hill,

taking the telescope apart.

You realize afterward

not that the image is false

but the relation is false.

 

You see again how far away

each thing is from every other thing.

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Louise Gluck reminds us things are not as they seem. The telescope helps us see something closer, but it’s only a temporary fancy. The telescope doesn’t make things bigger or bring them closer, it only creates the false appearance of closeness. Telescope is all about perspectives, how things we look at can seem near and yet be far away or vice versa. However, the poem is also about solitude and loneliness. The final line is tragic, the vast universe makes us think about how distant and alone we are as a planet and as individuals.

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Closer by Luccia Gray

Long black nights

Stars shining

Brighter

Make a wish

Calling dreams  

Closer

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Thursday Photo Prompt #WritePhoto #NationalPoetryMonth ‘Shore’ #amwriting #poem ‘I am the sand’

This poem was written in response to Sue Vincent’s weekly Thursday Photo Prompt. Check out Sue’s wonderful blog for more information.

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I Am The Sand

I am the sand,

Trapped in your hourglass.

Seeping smoothly down your neck.

You can tip me up or down,

Stopping the flow of my grains,

But you cannot hold time.

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He is the sea,

Pushing forward mercilessly,

Like the hands on a clock,

Stopping for no one,

Caring for nothing,

Overwhelming us all.

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He is persistent and I am compliant,

He’s unrelenting, while I am forgiving,

His waves are strong and tenacious,

He overpowers me with his demands,

He will flood my beaches and erode our world.

And you, you will sit and watch, helplessly.

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#SixWordSaturday May He Be Safe, Happy & Free

I live in the south of Spain, and I’m lucky enough to enjoy a warm climate and a swimming pool at home. When my five-year-old grandson comes to visit, he takes off his clothes and jumps in! He’s a great swimmer and he loves playing in the water.

I wasn’t born with a house, a pool, and a job, in fact I had a very underprivileged childhood.

However, I was fortunate enough to have been born in Europe in the 1960s, which means I had access to good quality, free education and health, which I fully took advantage of, and was consequently well prepared for the international job market.

I’ve worked hard and full-time since I finished my first degree, when I was 21. I’ve raised three wonderful, hard-working children and I have four young grandchildren.

My only wish for them, is that they, and all other European, and world citizens, continue to benefit from equal opportunities in education, health and the job market, so that they can be safe, happy, and free to live their life as they would choose.

I want them to live in a world, like the world I grew up in, in which they can decide which religion, if any to follow, which studies to pursue, and which career or job to have, in order to ensure a roof over their heads.

I hope they’ll be able to express their creativity, opinions, feelings, political ideas and sexuality, however they see fit, as long as they respect others, and do not purposefully hurt anyone, including themselves.

That’s the world I was privileged enough to live in, and it’s what I’d like them to enjoy, too.

Is it too much to ask for?

I leave you with a beautiful picture of Paris with a full moon which my daughter sent me a few weeks ago.

Liberté, egalité, fraternité.

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Feel free to join in Six Word Saturday hosted by Debbie Smyth’s Blog Travel with Intent

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#SOCS ‘Spellbound by Paddington Bear’ #WorldBookDay

This post was written in response to Linda G, Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt.

This week’s Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “spell.” Use the word “spell” any way you’d like. Bonus points if you use it in the first sentence. Enjoy! Link back to Linda’s prompt post here. Anyone can join in!

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Spellbound by Paddington Bear

Spellbound, that’s me.

It happened over fifty years ago.

I think it was Paddington Bear who did it to me in the first place.

It’s the first book title I can vividly remember reading at school.

The second culprit was the public library.

I read plenty of children’s books at school and at the public library, an unforgettable place.

Then at secondary school, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn were the first grown up books I can remember reading.

Sister Catherine read us the Moonstone and told us all about the mischievous Victorians.

David Copperfield and Oliver Twist enchanted me next, and Dickens is still my second favourite writer.

I hadn’t met my favourite writer yet, that happened when I was 13 and I went on a school trip to see Twelfth Night, that was when I met my favourite writer of them all, and yet in spite of being in awe of Othello, Macbeth, Hamlet, and Richard III, Twelfth Night is still my favourite of Shakespeare’s works.

My first romantic novel was Rebecca. I was about 14 by then.

After that momentous event, I remember devouring Daphne du Maurier’s novels. That reminds me that The King’s General, was a favourite I haven’t reread in a long time.

Shortly after I read Jane Eyre, and I’ve been rereading it ever since, as you all know.

I can’t remember exactly when I read Persuasion, but it was about the same time.

Thomas Hardy, followed closely after Wilkie Collins and Dickens, Tess of the d’Urbervilles and Far from the Madding Crowd, unforgettable.

Then as a result of the television series I adored, I read the novels of The Forsythe Saga, Poldark, and the Clayhangers devouring all the novels in the sagas.

So, it probably doesn’t surprise you that I love writing Victorian Fiction, but it might surprise you to know that I’m pushing myself out of my comfort zone, and due to a petition from my best friend, Anna M. I’m writing a contemporary thriller at the moment.

Someone said, ‘Eppur si muove’, so I suppose that’s what I’m doing.

Reading definitely cast a spell on me at an early age, and I’m so glad I’m still spellbound, because I’m never alone and always inspired.

I feel as if I’m conversing with people all over the world synchronically, that is with those who are alive at the moment, and diachronically, with those who are no longer breathing, but they’re still well and truly living.

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Does reading have you spellbound?

Which writers have you spellbound?

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Happy World Book Day for tomorrow!

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